Van Diemen's Land
by MischiefManagedAndFishCustard
Summary: How on earth does a man survive the heat of a foreign sun, without turning mad? Just how did Benjamin Barker spend his years on false charges, before he became ruined and Sweeney Todd was born?
1. Chapter 1

I've decided to take a short sabbatical from my other Sweeney story _Paper Flowers _and write the prequel to it which has been stuck in my head for forever and a day. Don't fret (if anybody of you care), I'll return to it of course and this is only going to be a short story - shut up Noelle and Vicki. :P

Basically it's about Benjamin Barker's experience in the hell that is my country when he was held prisoner. Oh, I loves my country, breaking and destroying so many fragile souls - did I just say that out loud? Anyhoo, Australian Convict History has always interested me, so I thought, why not combine my study with one of my favourite musicals? Woo!

Anyway, hope you enjoy. If you like, of course review please! If it's crap, I might just leave this as a one-shot then. Feel free to flame and throw things at me. I like flames. What can I say? I'm an Aussie, a sadist by nature.

**Note:** Van Dieman's Land was the original name for the island of Tasmania where a whole bunch of convicts were sent. I totally wanted to write about him in Fremantle (coolest place ever) near where I live because it is so rich with history, but Van Dieman's Land in my opinion just has a cooler ring to it for Sweeney.

* * *

**Van Diemen's Land**

_**Ch****apter One.**_

Sheer, blind panic.

Frenzied gasps of air.

Ribcage on fire.

The crunch of shrub under bare feet.

The sting of torn flesh, ribbons of scarlet blood replacing the soles of his feet.

A girl child's hand in his, skin black as Indian ink.

Following her lead as her nocturnal eyes guide them through the shadows of night.

Clothing catches the skeletal branches of the trees, gnarled and twisted, desiring to imprison him once again.

Benjamin trips.

_"Don' worry Mr. Barker, we be far 'way soon. Get up, quick now!"_

Benjamin sobs.

The girl pats his back, but looks worriedly in the direction of where they left. White man not be awake for hours, but when they be, they send out the hounds. It not be the men that frighten her, but the dogs. The dogs and their primal noses and their teeth.

_"Come, be quick, 'fore white ghost catch us!"_

* * *

_**Three Hours Previous.**_

The night belonged to Sasha. The natural instinct that she had inherited from her family, their family and their ancestors – the bond that she and the land seemed to have, helped guide her through land blanketed by dark. But this homestead, the estate of the Governor, this was Benjamin's territory. He crept through the rooms and hallway as lithe as a feline, the only light being the moon from behind glass windows that reflected off the blade in his hand. He was surprisingly calm that night; he had always assumed he would be high on adrenaline, but there was something unnatural about this event…Surreal…As if none of this were really happening.

He made his way up the staircase silent still, and stole into the master bedroom where he left the door open a crack so he could make a quick escape. He had no intention of looking at his masterpiece for long, he did not want to linger, he wanted to escape as hurriedly and quietly as he had entered.

The four poster bed awaited him and he could hear the soft sounds of undisturbed slumber. The crimson curtains were not pulled across, and he could see him, his mouth half agape, and his silver hair strewn over the pillow. He didn't look half so dignified and noble in his sleep. His sweet wife – yes, all the wealthy seemed to have younger wives – was curled up beside him, sleeping prettily, her gold hair nestled under a lace cap, in a braid, her nightgown sleeve pulled down revealing her bare shoulder, cream coloured and perfect – no unsightly tan dared blemish her skin, not the Governor's wife. The picture of _perfect matrimony. _

He moved over to his Master's side of the bed and looked down at him. His good, kind, benevolent Master who had saved him from the certain death thirteen years previous that he surely would have succumbed to. There was never the smallest possibility that his slight frame could have survived that fiery ball of hell they had the audacity to call a sun. Surely it was not the same sun that welcomed the morning in London. This was cruel, merciless, it was Lucifer Incarnate. The man had looked down at the young Benjamin Barker, lying in his own pungent sweat, unable to move from sheer exhaustion and sunstroke, and had taken pity on him, requesting the young barber be of service in his household. He had rescued him from certain death, but he had ensured he would forever remain in another cage.

It was only a moment that the blade he carried was pressed upon the flesh of his Master. In only a moment more, a crimson flow would be seeping into the pure white sheets of his bed, perhaps even slithering upon the Governor's wife. For eight more hours at least she would sleep peacefully beside a corpse, while he himself was fleeing through the Australian bushland with a little Aboriginal girl as his guide. It saddened him as he imagined the woman finally stirring in her sleep and _screaming _as she felt the warm, dry blood of her once living mate stick to her pretty nightgown. He had never taken issue with her…

His Master let out a deep sigh and moved slightly, but was still unaware of the blade against his throat.

_Go on, slit it! Slit as if you were simply carving through a peach! That's all you need do! _He screamed to himself inwardly, but all his hand would do was tremble. He felt an infuriating tear well in his eye, and he loathed himself for his goddamned weakness. The mere thought of this moment had kept him alive _for years._

"Please…"

This simple word jolted Benjamin Barker back to his senses from his dark reverie of thought and it pierced the calm around him. Panic seized him, but still he could not move as he looked down and her pale Cornflower blue eyes locked into his.

He could say nothing, as her arm moved up her husband's in a feeble but protective motion, and her voice broke as she implored her husband's servant once again in a hushed tone, _"Please…"_

"Why…Why aren't you screaming right now to alert the household?" came his gruff reply, but matching her with quietness as if the whole world spoke in whispers. The words poured from him mechanically however, he did not control his voice, "You could have me hanged for just this attempt, woman, and the world would think you are in your rights to do so."

She did not pause as she answered him, "Because I think you're mad enough to do murder, even if you know there isn't a chance of you surviving while being captured. I don't want anybody hurt; I couldn't bear my children living in a household where there were memories of death lurking in the walls of our home. And I do not wish you harm either…So just leave. There is no need for further evil."

The tear involuntarily slipped down his cheek and was joined by others. Her hand moved from her husband's arm to Benjamin's hand as he pressed the blade against his throat and she grasped it, but the tightening was not to deter him from murder, for she knew she had already won back the life of the man she had married. But to give him cheer.

"Goodbye, Benjamin. You will remain in my prayers. God give you speed, for you have until morning, until your absence is noticed, of course. The night is your only shield."

With heavy reluctance, Benjamin Barker moved back from the Governor. Old habits are hard to lose and he had planned this for so long…But he couldn't…It was not in him.

He slipped out while the Governor still slept, and the wife clung to her husband, finally allowing herself to shake from the fear she had repressed, praying thankfully for her husband's life.

_

* * *

**Nearly Two Years Later, Approximately**__**.**_

Marianne's youngest was twirling around the veranda with notions of one day becoming a famous ballerina. Her hair flung out wildly about her in a tangled mess of strawberry blonde, and Marianne clapped with a smile, "Very good my dear, if only you would put as much effort into your reading, as you do with your dance."

The little girl pouted prettily but this soon vanished in wonder as the buggy drove up the red-dirt driveway. Her Father was _never _home at such an early hour!

"Papa, Papa!" she cried as she ran down the steps as nimbly as she had spun around moments earlier – what a pity, Marianne thought privately, such elegance would be wasted in this godforsaken land.

But the usual doting Father did not seem to notice his youngest as he strode up to the house and to his wife, saying without warning, "I have been called to London, straightaway, darling."

"Called to _London__?" _Marianne stood at once, the forgotten teacup and saucer on her lap clattering and breaking on the wooden floor.

"It…It is an urgent matter…Perhaps – perhaps this will explain things better than I can…"

From his trousers pocket he pulled out a letter, which she started to read. Her eyes scanned the paper and the beautiful flowing calligraphy, and her hand moved over her mouth as she read the words.

"How – how can they be _sure?" _she spluttered.

"It seems they are quite sure, Marianne…The courts have sent for me to give an account of what he was like under my roof for all those years…Oh love, it seemed he left a blood bath in his wake before he was himself killed…How he even survived and _returned to London _– they're calling him the _Demon Barber _and_ London's Newest Black Plague!"_

The woman's body quivered with excruciating pain and after a moment of not being able to control it, her body wavered and she fell into the open arms of her husband, who wept into the softness of her hair, "Oh, our poor, poor Benjamin!" she wailed, "John, how we failed him!"


	2. Chapter 2

Haha Vickisticks (yes, I just called you Vickisticks on a public forum), thank you for your review. And I agree about the Aussie summer. It's evil, there really are no other words. Thank you. And yes, I'll stalk your Dr. Who fic now.

Please people, if you like, just drop in a few words...Please don't make me sad by waking up and there's no new reviews..

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_**Ch****apter Two.**_

Marianne was peering out the window in her parlour at the waxing moon, her mind of course on other things far more important than the silvery orb caught in the night sky, though the words from her son's favourite nursery rhyme left her lips in barely a murmur –

_"I see the moon,  
The moon sees me.  
God bless the moon,  
And God bless me."_

She lowered her gaze with a trembling sigh. Her husband had left for London, oceans away, on the first available ship. Ellie had of course been difficult about his departure; she feared they had spoiled that child far too much. She had demanded to stay with her Father and had been very displeased (to say the least) when he had growled at her – a most uncommon thing for him to do. But she could not blame him. This was a terrible mess – _oh, Benjamin…_

Marianne had been a child bride, brought out from London when her husband-to-be had written to her parents, requesting that she become his wife. His family had been acquaintances with her family and when he had shown an interest in matrimony, his family had suggested she in particular would be a good candidate. Accomplished in a few things, from good breeding, appealing to the eye, able to run a household, sensible and not flighty, educated (that was the most important, he had wanted his wife to have been schooled in Byron, Blake, Irving, Keats and the like) and good-natured. She had left the only world she had known for a sunburnt land she knew nothing of and a stranger who was to be her husband. All the frocks and furs and coats that she brought with her, they remained still in her unopened trunks. A whole new wardrobe with light materials had to be ordered at once at her arrival, none of her things would have let her survive the heat.

They had only been married a month – on her sixteenth birthday in fact – when he had brought Benjamin Barker home, like a child would bring home a stray. He was an eccentric man, everybody agreed, who would bring home a convict as a servant? Especially one who looked as if they would be measured for a coffin soon!

She remembered that afternoon, the buggy pulling up and John shouting good-naturedly for some servants to help him with a stranger. Marianne curiously peeked out herself and her husband had laughed, "Marianne! Look what I have found!"

He had been making inspections of the prisons where the labourers were kept, he told her later, and he had stumbled across this poor pup, dying from sun stroke, utter exhaustion, dehydration, overwork and malnutrition. Apparently he had been a barber in his former life and he was described as being an artist at his profession. Marianne had stared at him as he had been carried in. His skin was white as parchment, he looked as gaunt as a phantom. The hair was shaved close to his head – as most new convicts were – and later she would see the crime of that act, when thick, dark, beautiful curls grew back. Oh, he would be handsome many months later, but when she first saw him, she had to steel herself from gasping. The uniform of the convict hung off his body as if he were nothing but a skeleton, and his eyes – were blank, as if his soul had slipped away from him without him noticing or even caring.

"I found you a new brother," John said to her with a smile, "Don't be frightened love, when he is all mended, I'm sure he won't be as frightening and he will serve us well."

It was indeed many days numbering into weeks though, that the new servant recovered. It had been quite a warm morning when she heard the soft sound of bare feet from the veranda and he stared at her as she sat at the piano, music drifting throughout the property. John had imported a Petzold all the way from Paris as a wedding gift, knowing she liked to play. She was in love with the fine instrument made out of polished Rosewood and she could not stop the habit of smoothing it with her hands lovingly.

She turned her head to the stranger who was staring at her quietly, and smiled slightly, though self-consciously as she touched her yellow hair that tumbled down her shoulders – John was fond of seeing her hair unpinned, even though it was impractical in this heat. _Men._

"Good morning, Benjamin," she greeted him, as he came in hesitantly.

He stared at her, then at the instrument, longingly.

"Do you play?" she asked.

He shook his head and under his breath she could barely hear him mumble, "My Lucy always wanted to…Was going to when I could afford to pay for lessons…"

There was an awkward silence and Marianne looked back at the ivory keys, continuing to play quietly. But he did not walk away, and when she looked back at him she was greatly moved when she saw silent tears roll down his face.

She tried again, "You know, I miss London too."

His eye seemed to twitch and he looked at her with such perplexity, that she carried on to explain herself, "It was not easy for me to leave either. I miss my home; and my little patch of garden – there is nothing like English roses! They say they can be grown here, but it is such an unforgiving and stubborn soil, I have my doubts. I miss my piano – oh, yes, this one is grand, but it has not shared with me the memories of childhood like my one at home. And I miss weekend sojourns to Paris…I miss my brother…" she looked at him, "I do understand."

He said nothing to this admission even though she detected he would like to, thus she said graciously, "You may – you may speak freely, Benjamin."

He looked at her suspiciously, unsure at this liberty she offered, but like a child given a scrap of freedom he seized it and decided to run with it, and to Hades with the consequence, "You miss your _brother_, you miss your _home_, your _piano_, your _pretty things_ - but with all _due respect _Mrs. Armstrong, you came here of your own free will. _I came in chains."_

A tiny sound escaped her throat and she nodded in acknowledgement, continuing her music, "Yes, well...As unfortunate as that is...We must pay the price for our transgressions…And make good with the consequences."

She did not watch him go, but she knew he stopped as she tried to say as lightly as she could, "We are not unkind, Benjamin. We will be fair to you, and treat you well. If you work hard with a good heart, your soul will find peace and you will accept your fate."

He said nothing of what she said but muttered as he left to walk back outside, "I am innocent of all charges man has thrust upon me, Mrs. Armstrong."

She shook her head and sighed.

* * *

Oh, she had been so cruel in her ignorance! The arrogance of youth and a sheltered life! What venom she had spat on his wounds unknowingly. She had been barely more than a girl, but that was no excuse. She had learned so much about Benjamin Barker since then over the years – how can _one man_ have such power to rule the fate of another!

And yet she and John had been no better!


End file.
